Which translated to “he might be a dictator but he is a benevolent one.” “Do you think that is what will happen? Is the dowager countess deliberately undermining my influence with Lady Anne?”
“Yes,” she answered bluntly. “For all her charm, the dowager countess is willful and still wants things run her way. The earl has made it clear that the estate is his. Lady Anne is in a tug-of-war between them.”
Amy did not know whether to be worried or not. Hopefully her stay would be short enough that she would not become a point of contention between the countess and her supposed nephew.
The gentlemen joined them for tea, the earl the last one to come into the room. He ignored her and for a moment Amy worried that it was the real earl and not Simon. She tried to catch his eye and when she did he winked at her. It made her smile and she pursed her lips when she saw the librarian looking from one to the other of them.
The arrival of the men was a signal of sorts. Lady Anne stopped playing and the whole evening sped up. Fresh tea arrived instantly and in less than thirty minutes it was gone and the good-nights were said.
It was not yet bedtime. What did people do? She decided that with the moon still full she would take a few moments to walk outside. Her brief almost-visit to the garden had been all she had seen of the estate grounds.
With a word to Martha Stepp and her assurance that Lady Anne would be playing in the small music room, Amy grabbed a shawl and found her way to the side door that opened onto a patio and down to a path that would ensure she would not get lost.
A moment later, she heard someone behind her. Her dress was the color of the leaves so she stepped into the trees and watched to see who it was. Simon came along, not in a hurry, but moving as though he was looking for her.
“Simon,” she whispered, “I’m over here.”
He turned sharply.
She stepped away from the tree and curtseyed. “Is it not a perfectly gorgeous evening?” She drew a deep breath of the sweet spring air. “It feels like twenty-first-century Ireland on a good day.”
He laughed, drawing a deep breath himself. “Clean, and sweet, with only a hint of damp. You’re right.”
She went to him and they fell into step together.
“And quiet,” she continued. “So blessedly quiet. Without that constant hum of electricity, not to mention leaf blowers, and traffic. I think the quiet is my favorite part.” She stopped and spoke to his back. “How did you know where I was?” she asked, only slightly distracted by his broad shoulders and the way his Regency-era jacket emphasized his fine body.
“I asked and one of the footmen told me he had seen you leave,” he said, facing her.
“Can anyone keep any secrets here?” They looked back toward the house where they would still be visible from the upper-floor windows. They resumed walking.
“So far we’ve done pretty well.”
“Think about it, Simon. Westmoreland is huge, but one is rarely alone. Footmen and the rest of the gang of servants outnumber the residents. Both the servants and your family must feel as though they are always playing before an audience. And after a while it becomes second nature. How often do the people here let their true selves show? This experience has completely ruined my fantasy of Regency life.”
“Which was?” he prompted.
“A world where the ladies shopped and drank tea and had nothing more to worry about than what novel to read next.” She twisted a flower from a stem and twirled it as they walked. “Now I know that in between tea parties they worried about producing an heir, whether they would catch pox from their faithless husbands, if their children would survive infancy…”
“Except for the particulars, it’s the same in our time.” Simon took the flower from her and tucked it in her hair. “You have one face for the world and keep your worries to yourself.”
“Like you did when you thought I was a con artist.”
“Right. Both of us have a lot to learn about each other, don’t you think? Secrets to share, if you will. Which only goes to prove that details may change, but man remains the same.”
They came to a fork in the path and Simon nodded to the left. “This way, it’s a bit of a walk but worth it.” The turning put an end to their conversation. Amy marveled at the way he listened to her, treated her ideas as though they had merit.
Moonlight lit the way, the treed path giving way to a clear hillside. Now she could see their destination.
“It looks like the Jefferson Memorial!”
“I guess it does,” he said. “It’s called a ‘folly.’”
“Oh! I’ve read about them. I’ve always wanted to see one.”
She ran a little ahead of him. He slowed and watched as she stopped in front of it. In her green dress she stood out against the moon-bright white of the folly, the slight breeze pressing her clothes against her. With her hands clasped together she looked like a windswept supplicant before the temple of a god.
He wanted her. He wanted all of her. Her mind, always questioning, always interested. Her heart, so open and generous, and her body, so soft, so welcoming. He had always made light of his parents’ story—now he understood how it could happen.
When he was beside her, he waited a moment, watching her watch the play of light on the façade. Finally, she looked his way, and he decided to tell her exactly what was on his mind.
Eight
“Did you know that my father proposed to my mother on the night they met?”
“Really?”
He could tell by her smile that she thought that was romantic.
“What did she say?”
“That’s not the point,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too much like a teacher correcting a student. “The thing is that he knew the minute he met her that she was the one.”
“Which means she said no to him.”
“True, but now that he’s gone she tells us that she wasted two whole months that they could have been together.”
Amy was quiet for about a second. But not silent. Her eyes told him as surely as words that she understood the feeling. She spoke with a laugh. “Wow, that’s off the chart on the romantic scale. And you might be right about it not taking more than a touch to know you’ve found the one. You have to admit, though, these are not the usual boy-meets-girl circumstances.”
He walked up the steps, into the folly’s one room. He could hear Amy following him. When he faced her, she was looking out over the vista, down to the river. “You’re right about that. This is not the usual. As a matter of fact, I can’t recall anything as strange. Except that time I drove by this outdoor photo shoot. It was the middle of winter and a Victoria’s Secret model in a teddy jumped into my car and told me to turn the heat up.”
“Awful pun.” Amy let go of the vista and gave him her full attention as she grimaced, then laughed out loud.
He loved that laugh, so he went on. “I proposed to her right away, like my dad had. Didn’t work. So I learned my lesson and am waiting until we know each other for at least a few hours.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Oh yes, I am. After that first kiss, is there any doubt left?”
“Just a little,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He’d always thought that love would blind him to all but the beloved. He had never understood that it would be all-consuming in a completely different way. With her body pressed against his, her mouth teasing him with kisses along his neck, all he could think of was Amy Stevens. No other woman came to mind, no other love tickled his memory. Amy was his touchstone and his world.
She pressed her lips to his and his thoughts were flooded with a storm of sensations. There was nothing but the feel of her, the taste, the scent, the gift. It swirled though his brain, his body, his heart.
Holding her back in his arms, her breasts pressed against him, he could barely hear her over the thunder of his need. He lowered his head and kissed the sweet, smooth skin where the bodice of her dress barel
y covered her breasts. Her moan was all the encouragement he needed.
He pushed the dress down and edged the chemise aside. Her welcome was a sound of pure delight that enchanted him, made him want to give endlessly. They shared the pleasure of learning the other’s secrets, undressing each other; their own heat was warmth enough even on this cool evening.
It was magic and madness until need eclipsed feeling.
“There’s no bed here, Amy.”
“We’ll find one next time. Please don’t stop,” she begged.
He smiled as he used his jacket to protect her from the cold stone wall at her back, promised more with a kiss and filled her with passion as fully as his heart filled her with love.
The night wrapped them with its quiet. Simon matched his breathing to hers, felt the beat of her heart, the warmth of her around him, and knew a moment of perfection. No words were needed, as a lifetime of possibilities opened before him.
“I noticed you the minute you came through the pub door. When you ignored the football game and sat down I thought I knew it was more than looks. Amy, that was even before I saw the coin.”
“Your smile, Simon. It was your smile that made me think that I wanted more from you than a few words.”
They shared kisses with their confessions, but Simon could feel the air cooling and knew that they had to find their clothes and walk back to the house.
Dressing in unfamiliar clothes in the dark was a process as absurd as it was arousing. By the time Amy had her stays tied and had helped Simon into his close-fitting jacket, they were both cursing and laughing and swearing that valets and maids earned every pound of their pay.
As they walked back to the house, Simon suggested a plan. “At least it is fully dark. Less chance of discovery. You go in through the large music room. Can you find your way from there?”
She nodded.
“I’ll go on down to the barn and check on the status of my new horse. He really is a beautiful animal,” he said as he turned her to face him. He smoothed her hair and drew the shawl around her. “Much too high strung for my tastes. Good to know that the third earl died in his sixties from a lung inflammation and not as the result of a riding accident. I’ll see if I can surprise any of the grooms gambling.”
He kissed her, a quick touch on her lips, the kind any longtime couple would share. It was anything but casual for her, reviving every fine memory of the last hour. She could feel him watching her to the door, where she turned to wave him on.
It could not be much later than nine o’clock, not what one usually thought of as the dead of night, but the house seemed so still and quiet it might as well be midnight. As she made her way past the library, she saw the light under the door and wondered who was still up or if the light was left on until the earl retired.
The stairs were a gray marble and easy to see. She skipped up them quick and quiet. The sound of the pianoforte drifted from the small music room and Amy knew that Lady Anne was still practicing. Was the endless practice her way of finding privacy? Where did she escape to in her music?
One more long hallway and she was at the door to Lady Anne’s suite of rooms. She might not be Lady Anne’s maid, but she thought it would be best if she remained dressed and available until she came up for bed. There was a full mirror in the corner of her sitting room and Amy used it to make sure she did not look as though she had just come from a romantic tryst.
No amount of hair brushing or shaking of her skirts could erase the softness from her eyes or the fullness of her lips, and if she did not stop smiling, she would be called a simpleton.
She found a chair in Lady Anne’s sitting room, near the single lit candle, leaned back, closed her eyes, and yawned, part glorious fatigue and part the exhaustion that came with dealing with the oddest day of her life.
I wish we could find that coin. Simon could give it to Martha to give to the earl and they could find a way home. She picked up the book that was at hand. It was a work of art in itself. Lovely leather binding in dark blue, lovely gilt edging on the pages. Before she could do more than admire the workmanship, the sound of arguing came from the bedroom. Amy recognized Martha Stepp’s voice. The other was definitely not Lady Anne.
“I found it. I found it on the floor in the conservatory and it’s mine. It’s no proper coin anyway.”
“It may well be yours, Florrie, but we must ask the earl first. Give it to me.”
“You are not the housekeeper. I do an have to.”
“Florrie! Give it to me, this minute.”
“I wish you would get what you deserve, Martha Stepp!”
As Amy made sense of the conversation she was out of her seat and at the door as quickly as possible, still too late to prevent the wish. The moment before she pushed through the bedroom door, the other door opened and Lady Anne came into the sitting room.
“And on whom, may I ask, are you eavesdropping?”
“No one, Lady Anne. They were arguing and I wanted to see if I could help them.”
The bedroom door opened and Florrie raced out of the room, her apron raised to cover her face. Even with that protection, the sound of gulping tears was unmistakable.
“What is this, Martha?” Lady Anne asked at her most demanding.
Martha was red-faced. “I’m so sorry, my lady. Miss Stevens. This is not the place for such a thing. I do beg your pardon.”
“For what, Martha?” Amy asked. “Florrie ran out of the room in tears. Surely that was not your fault.”
“She found a coin today and insisted it was hers. I told her that she had to first show it to Mr. Stepp and the earl to be sure it was not of some importance to them or one of the guests.”
“Where is this coin?”
Martha came toward her, but as she handed it over she bumped the small side table. The music sheets that Martha had left there earlier in the day fluttered off and into the fire. It did not take Lady Anne’s cry of distress to make Martha reach into the flames to rescue them. Amy was one step behind, but could do nothing when Martha dropped the flaming music sheets. They fell on the chair nearest the table. Lady Anne’s nightrobe was there and it and the chair began to flame.
Amy grabbed the flower vase from a table nearest the window and poured the contents, both tulips and water, on the fire, stopping it before it had a chance to spread. The final insult was the splash of water that soaked the hem of Lady Anne’s elegant evening dress.
“That is the last straw, Martha Stepp. You are dismissed. Clean this mess up and pack your things.”
Martha looked stricken. Her face went white. “Yes, my lady” was all she said.
“But Lady Anne, it was an accident.” It was too unfair to blame Martha, Amy thought.
Anne would have nothing to do with her either. “You might as well pack your things and leave tomorrow, too, Miss Stevens. I will wait for Miss Kemp. The last thing I want is a companion who listens at doors or one who does not know who pays her wages.”
The coin lay on the floor, twinkling as it always did. Amy was beginning to wonder if it was a cursed coin and not a magic one. For surely what Martha deserved in Florrie’s mind was not fair at all. Despite the fact that she was still learning to be a lady’s maid, Martha’s loyalty and good nature were unteachable assets.
Following the maid’s lead, Amy curtseyed. “As you wish, my lady. Please, though, the coin is mine.”
“It is?”
“Yes, it was a gift from my father.” Oh right, she forgot, her father was dead. “He gave it to me before he died. It must have fallen out of my bag this morning.”
Martha picked up the coin and made to hand it to her. Lady Anne put her hand out. “I will take it and give it to the earl in the morning. He can decide whose it is.”
Yes! Amy bit her lip to keep from saying it out loud. She could handle being fired if she thought the coin was finally going to wind up in the right hands.
“You can gather your things in the morning, Miss Stevens. Go and have Stepp find some
place else for you to sleep.”
Martha was near tears and left the room without another word. Amy made her way down the front stairs more frustrated than worried. Poor Martha Stepp. With her hopes of being housekeeper so thoroughly crushed, what would she do? How could Florrie have made such a stupid wish? And above all, why had the coin granted a wish that was so wrong, would bring so much pain?
What she needed to do now was find Simon. He was the earl. He could rehire Martha. And she could tell him that they could return home. She would go to his bedroom if she had to. Brave Fancett’s superciliousness. It didn’t matter to her what he thought. Or it shouldn’t.
She stopped at the massive front door, with its smaller inset door, and asked the still bright-eyed porter if the earl had returned from the stables.
“No, miss,” he said, touching his forelock. “I won’t be off duty until he goes up to bed. Then I can lock the door, check all the other locks, report to Mr. Stepp, and go to me own bed. Let the night porter start his rounds.”
“Thank you.” She made her way to the stairs, stopping at the first landing, just out of sight. She leaned against the pillar, then sank down onto the stair, all the elation draining from her. It was positively selfish to be so happy when almost everyone in this house was miserable.
Waiting was torture. Oh, she wished he would hurry. She was having a staring contest with a statue when she heard the small door swing open. She peeked around the column and saw Simon step through.
He and the porter exchanged a few words that had Simon searching the stairs. With a final good-night, he hurried up the steps two at a time, stopping short when he saw her.
She jumped up. “Simon—!”
He pressed a finger against her lips and took her hand. “Let’s go to the library.”
When they reached the top of the stairs, Simon checked to make sure that the hall was empty. With a sign from him that all was clear, they tiptoed into the room and she burst out laughing. “I feel like I’m a teenager looking for a place to make out. Not that I ever did that.”
Dead of Night Page 16
